


Invisible Threads are the Strongest Ties (2)

by downdeepinside



Series: Whose DNA? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative ending to 'When Everything Goes to Hell'. Takes place immediately after the events of chapter seven, ignoring chapter eight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Threads are the Strongest Ties (2)

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out for swearing and angst (also, if you don't like mpreg it's possible you're lost).

“No.”

John’s voice is forceful and he finds the fact it wavers slightly incredibly fucking irrelevant given the circumstances. When he stands, quick enough to cause the world to spin under his feet, the chair he was sat on swings back and hits the wall despite its largeness suggesting it’s far too heavy to fall so easily. The doctor in front of him is not a junior, as they so often seem to be as of late, and is instead old. His eyes are dark and sad, his brows drawn in in that stereotypical sympathetic way all trainees perfect halfway through med-school. John wants to punch him in the face.

“No.” he says again, his voice that of a man standing on the pavement as his friend balances on the roof above him. He shakes his head and flexes his left hand, trembling ever so slightly, “Please, I can’t, you don’t, this isn’t,” the doctor sighs and settles himself into a position that suggests he recognises his shift won’t be ending anytime soon.

“M- _Doctor_ Watson. I’m sorry. We did all we could do, but…”

“I want to see him.”

The doctor blinks, and then gives a small nod of his head as he turns away. He leads John to a room he’s learned to hate and leaves him at the door with murmurs of apologies.

John doesn’t notice.

His focus is on something different entirely.

Lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed and chest still, is the nucleus of John’s universe: The hyper-surface of his present. His bump is no longer as defined as it was a few hours ago, instead slightly deflated and looking decidedly more cushion-shaped than baby-shaped. His eyes, still circled by black splodges, have fallen shut for the last time and John wonders what the last sight he saw was. He allows himself for a moment to wonder if it was the child, before choking on a sob and falling into the damned plastic chair. Of course it wasn’t the child. Sherlock never even got to see the bloody child.

“You’re a wanker.” John’s voice is still loud, perhaps a little too loud, but he doesn’t care. His throat is starting to burn yet he’s not sure that’s anything to do with the pitch. He pulls in a ragged breath and pushes out so quickly his head feels sore. “I can’t believe – how _selfish_ of you. I – honestly. I can’t believe you, you _git_.”

John’s hand finds it’s self in Sherlock’s cool one and his fingers run over a dead pulse. “All of this – everything, was about what you wanted. It was about family. We were meant to be a family Sherlock! And now, what? You’ve buggered off? You’ve left me alone? Pulled out the engine and pushed me off a cliff? I _told_ you I couldn’t do it without you and, did you listen? Did you ever even listen? Was it always just about… about the _fucking kid_?”

John stares at his partner, waiting for a reply that will never come, and after a pause he lets his head fall onto the other man’s chest for the last time ever. His ragged breaths turn into sobs, loud and hideous, and it’s minutes before he regains control of himself. When he slowly lifts his head he ignores the wet patch on the bedding and rubs furiously at his eyes, “I love you,” he whispers, running his index finger over Sherlock’s lips. “I’ll never stop loving you. I don’t – I don’t care what they say. You’re not dead, alright? You’re not – don’t be _dead_.”

There are footsteps outside of the corridor, hurried and business-like. John stands slowly, pulling his hands into tight balls by his sides. He counts to five before releasing the tension and gives a small smile at the man who won’t ever see it. “It’s – she’s a girl. And she’s healthy. Against all the odds she’s… she’s fine. Perfect, even.”

John imagines Sherlock’s dead expression transforming into a brilliant smile just as it has for him so many times before.

Outside, there’s the small cry of a new-born baby.

“She’ll know who her father was. What a brilliant man. She’ll know what she meant – how important she was to you. I’ll tell her you’re sorry, shall I? Would you like that, love?” John forces a wobbly smile and rubs at his eyes again, “She’ll love you. I know she will.”

The crying picks up a notch and John turn slowly to greet the nurse at the door, a small pink bundle wrapped in her arms. The army doctor straightens his back minutely, before taking controlled paces towards the wailing child. The nurse hands him his daughter and he stares down at her scrunched up eyes.

In his mind, he turns and smiles to a bleary (but elated) Sherlock.

In reality, the nurse walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are lovely!


End file.
